


the tide of the war

by apostrophe (introductions)



Series: the cosmos and the soul [4]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dreams, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gods, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, POV Alternating, Prophecy, Secret Relationship, allusions to the moon, these are war times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductions/pseuds/apostrophe
Summary: The war begins, and Donghyuck dreams of a bloody future.Meanwhile, a voice speaks to him, urging him to accept a destiny he's not sure he's ready for.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: the cosmos and the soul [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075802
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60
Collections: Markhyuck Week 2021





	the tide of the war

**Author's Note:**

> ok yes disclaimer this is when it becomes p important to at least scan the previous fics!! bc otherwise this won't make much sense :) 
> 
> but things are finally moving thank GOD it seems i really am physically incapable of writing something without worldbuilding a little bit!! 
> 
> please enjoy!! and heed the rating bump ;)

The march to war is a long one.

Because Nanseo doesn't technically have a standing army, they go in waves—the two thousand highly-trained Daijyo from the Empress' private army, and the nine hundred active Solari. The conscription takes a while, and the training takes the better part of a month. It is nearly August by the time they have everyone assembled in the western fields, waiting at the border for this whole thing to begin.

They're not many. Most of them are foot soldiers, equipped with spears because they're cheap, their training still fresh. The mounted soldiers, mostly women from the outer towns, are even less, but their riders are more confident than those on the ground.

Compared to the army that awaits them, Donghyuck thinks they'll need a miracle to win. Divine intervention, maybe. Either way, they'll need the gods.

Which, he tells himself, is why he's often sitting at the sun goddess' shrine they'd set up at the back of the Solari camp, a ways from the rest. He's not _hiding,_ as Johnny suggested, a knowing look in his eye. He can face Mark Lee whenever he wants. He feels nothing in particular regarding Mark's _convenient_ appearance alongside the Duchess and Chief Xiao.

That's what he'd told Johnny. But the truth is, when Donghyuck had seen his face, ten years younger than all the other strategists and commanders the Empress had hired, his heart had nearly stopped. Then had come a myriad of emotions—anger because Mark didn't tell him, panic at the pressure to act naturally, and heartache because he loves Mark and hates that he's here, where so many of them are going to die.

Donghyuck shifts on the worn kneeling pad at the foot of the small shrine and refocuses his thoughts. He reaches out to the sun goddess again, asking for strength on the battlefield, and protection for the soldiers. The sun goddess was also considered the war goddess—as the myth goes, she singlehandedly seized the sky from the chaos spinners in a battle that lasted for two days. During those times, it was just the sun and the moon gods. Kei's little sister Miho, the goddess of the stars, hadn't been born yet, and the earth was still too young and new, mankind still too close to the gods, to need the soul gods. They came later, from all different locations, to make up the ten deities Nanseo worshipped today.

The sun goddess is still the primary one, and all the more important now that war is here. The words _sun goddess_ and _my Lady_ have started to sound strange in his head because he's been repeating them over and over for the last couple of days he's been sitting—no, Johnny, _not_ hiding—here, away from the battle preparation.

Not that he's particularly involved in that, but still. They've only had a couple of minor skirmishes so far, and they've gone _terribly_ , their smaller armies absolutely crushed by the combined might of Seifos and Aureli. He's heard talks of requesting aid from allies, but all of them are far—at least a week by sea.

And they just don't have the time. The longer they wait here, the more confident their opponent gets.

It's enough to make Donghyuck antsy, buzzing in his bones. He's not anxious so much as he's on-edge, the urge to _fight_ pooling in his palms and making his blood hot. The dreams don't help either—they'd arrived the night after he'd seen Mark at the garden party, and have only gotten worse since they've moved from the capital. Dreams of bloodshed, swords shattering on shields, armor shredded by arrows. The grass beneath their feet turns red and the sky turns black, their soldiers crumbling to dust. All of Donghyuck's setmates die in front of him, and Donghyuck sits among the clouds and watches with horror, feeling sick to his stomach. Then the quiet voice goes, _Do you understand yet? Do you see now? Do you believe me? This is the fate that awaits your country._

There's a hand on his back, and Donghyuck startles, looking up. It's Yuta, his tunic dirty and his hair mussed. He must've come from the barracks, where the Solari work with the Daijyo to train footsoldiers. Most of them have never seen a weapon in their lives. Most of them don't even know what _war_ is until Empress Soyoung declared that they shall conscript and march by the beginning of summer.

"It's dinnertime," Yuta says.

"I'm not hungry," Donghyuck replies, and Yuta sighs. He doesn't know about Mark, but he knows _something's_ up, and Donghyuck knows he's sick of it. "Seriously, Yuta, just go without me."

"You've been acting really weird recently," Yuta says, dropping down next to him. He clasps his hands and closes his eyes briefly, and then turns to Donghyuck. "You haven't been helping in the barracks and you've been avoiding meals." He gives Donghyuck a curious look. "Are you trying to avoid someone?"

"No!" Donghyuck says sharply. Yuta raises an eyebrow, and he scowls. "No. I'm just trying to get godly aid, which we won't _win the war without._ "

"I don't believe you," Yuta says simply. "You're a good Solari, but you've never really cared about the words of the gods."

"They gave me nothing on my birthday, remember?" Donghyuck mutters. "I'm starting to think they just don't care about me."

Yuta gives the sun goddess' shrine an uneasy look and gets to his feet. "Let's go get dinner and talk," Yuta says. "I don't think we should be slandering the gods if we're sitting at their feet."

"We could go sit by Ander's shrine," Donghyuck suggests. "Mountain gods don't care about slander. They just care about constancy and order. And mountains."

"We are _not_ going to sit by Ander's shrine, we're going to get dinner," Yuta says firmly. Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue, but Yuta grabs Donghyuck by the back of his robe and drags him to his feet.

"What about Rani? Aza? Bowen? Miho?" Donghyuck suggests, digging in his heels. "Jun? He likes secrets."

"Yeah, but he's still a _god,_ " Yuta says. "Now stop throwing their names around, because you're _going_ to get struck by lightning."

"Fine," Donghyuck says, crossing his arms. Yuta lets go of him, and Donghyuck marches sullenly towards the dining tent. They're joined by a couple of other Solari on their way over—Taeyong and Jisung, who are in Donghyuck's set, and a few more Donghyuck recognizes but doesn't know by name.

The benches are already packed with footsoldiers, the occasional sky-blue tunic of the Daijyo visible between them. Johnny, who already has his food, meets them at the entrance of the tent. He waves cheerfully, his mouth full. When he spots Donghyuck, he smiles and pats him on the back.

"No worries," Johnny tells him in a low voice as they debate if today's mysterious soup will taste the same as yesterday's. "Your duke left with a battalion earlier. Apparently, they're meeting with the Seifos general to discuss truce terms."

Relief sinks through Donghyuck, which he immediately feels guilty about. He shouldn't be avoiding Mark—but the thought of having to be near him under _so many_ watchful eyes is terrifying, ice in his veins. "Oh," he says. "Do you think it could end tonight? Like, could a truce be reached?"

"No way," Jisung says. "And no amount of praying to the star goddess is gonna change that."

Donghyuck thinks about his dream again, the voice nagging in the back of his head. The war-buzz that sometimes crests in his blood, buzzing and insistent. The dreams of violence and slaughter, a fate that they can't avoid.

But it's hard to stay down when he's surrounded by people who draw him into conversation, who laugh and joke with him. It may be life or death, and grave peril waits less than a hundred miles from their encampment, but they sip their bland soup and mess around with the footsoldiers and try to pretend like they're not standing in front of the gates to the underworld.

* * *

Mark returns that night. Donghyuck watches the horses gallop towards the Empress’s test, the sky blue banner flapping. The horses are exhausted, sweat glistening on their flanks and faces, chests heaving. Their riders dismount, and Donghyuck sees Mark, wearing navy, striding towards the tent. He doesn’t look happy. 

Donghyuck turns back towards Jiwoo’s shrine, looking at the small golden dish of rainwater. He sighs. “I don’t know what I should do,” he says. “Do I tell them about the dreams? Do I tell them they’re making a mistake by being here?” He pauses, considering. “Will anybody even listen to me?” 

Per usual, there is no verbal response, just the soft scent of rain. He turns to the shrine next to hers. It belongs to the cloud god, Bowen. He also oversees thoughts and dreams, and Donghyuck offers a quick prayer to him— _help me sleep easy._

Then he gets to his feet and heads towards the Solari tents. Most of them are already asleep, so Donghyuck undresses as quietly as he can and lies down on his cot. 

Sleep does not come easy—Mark fills his thoughts, and anxiety about the dreams keep him from sleeping. But eventually, the exhaustion from the day catches up, and his body pulls his mind into slumber. 

Immediately, he finds himself in the sky. The wind whips his clothing and tugs at his hair as he soars over their encampment, little lights rotating around the outside as the guard changes. He can see the Empress’s tent, still lit up. Whatever news Mark brought must not be very good. 

He keeps gliding, over rippling grass and creeks, until he stops right above the enemy’s camp. It’s significantly larger and brighter, like its occupants haven’t gone to sleep yet. 

Which makes no sense—it’s nearly two in the morning. The majority should be in bed, not strapping on armor and readying horses. There should be darkness and quiet, not the bustle that Donghyuck has come to associate with battle preparations. 

And then everything clicks into place. _Battle preparations._

Their opponents are going to ambush them.

In the early dawn, with only the scouts awake, it would be a bloodbath. A total slaughter. Even the best of their fighters would be caught unaware. 

And then the path between the mountains would be unguarded, letting the army march straight into the heart of their kingdom without any resistance at all. 

_You know what you must do,_ the voice says, and Donghyuck wakes up. 

He doesn’t bother with changing his clothes, just throws on his tunic and pulls on his boots. His hands are cold with fear, and his mind spins. How is he going to get them to believe him? He’s not even a year vowed in, and not known for his devotion to the gods. He has no authority. 

But he has to try. Everyone’s life is at stake. The _kingdom_ is at stake. 

He makes his way through tents, jogging. The solar light on his chest bounces, glowing faintly and illuminating his way. 

The Empress’s tent comes into sight, guarded by two Daijyo. When they see Donghyuck, they tense, until they recognize the close crop of his hair and the symbol bouncing on his chest. 

“Halt,” one of them says, raising her hand. “No unauthorized people may enter the Empress’s tent without—” 

“I have a message from the gods,” Donghyuck says with as much importance he can muster. The pendant on his chest glows brighter at his words, and the Daijyo’s eyes go wide. “For the Empress. It’s a matter of life and death.” 

The two Daijyo exchange looks. One of them ducks inside, and the remaining woman gives the glowing light on Donghyuck’s chest an uneasy look. 

A second later, the Daijyo ducks back out. “He can come in,” he says, gesturing at Donghyuck. “They’re waiting.” 

He pulls the fabric to the entrance aside, and Donghyuck steps through. 

The round table takes up most of the space in the tent, and some of the most powerful people in the kingdom sit at it. They aren’t the ones who make Donghyuck nervous, though—that would be Mark Lee, the love of his life, sitting to the left of his mother. He gives Donghyuck an apologetic look as soon as their eyes meet, and Donghyuck hates that he’s sitting there without looking affected in the slightest. 

Donghyuck tears his eyes off of Mark’s face and focuses on the Abbott, who sits to the right. He gives Donghyuck a scrutinizing look. “Well?” he says. 

Donghyuck squares his shoulders, his eyes drifting back over to Mark, unable to help it. “The sun goddess spoke to me.” 

He doesn’t know if that’s true or not, but he’d been in the sky. And she’s the one they’re all praying to, right? Dreams may not be her style—she’d always preferred flashier, more dramatic ways of communication—but there are few other gods with the power to show the present like that. 

“And what did she say?” the Duchess asks kindly. The Empress isn’t here—she’s still in the capital. Her eldest son, Jaehyun, came in her place, and he sits at the head of the table, brow furrowed. 

Donghyuck glances at Mark again, who nods encouragingly. 

“She spoke of an ambush.” 

A quiet gasp from the Duchess. Worried murmurs break out around the table, and Mark’s brow creases. 

“When?” Chief Xiao asks gruffly. 

“They prepare to ride as we speak,” Donghyuck says. “They’ll be here by dawn.” 

The Abbott clears his throat. “And you speak the truth?” 

Donghyuck lifts his medallion, the solar gold warm in his hand. “I do.” 

The Abbott looks at him for a long moment, and Donghyuck feels like he sees something Donghyuck does not. “The boy does not lie. Our enemy comes from us.” 

“Why would the sun goddess only warn us?” the Empress asks. “Why wouldn’t she send aid?” 

“The gods work in strange ways,” the Abbott says. “There will be time yet.” 

Chief Xiao is squinting at the map. “We don’t have time to retreat back through the mountains, so we’ll make camp at the base of Rose Peak. We’ll have the high ground, and the protection of the mountain god. If we go now, and hurry, the end of our marchers should be firing range by dawn. But we must go _now_.” 

The Duchess nods firmly. “Sound the alarms. Take only what we must. It must be a speedy retreat.” She turns to Donghyuck. “Thank you,” she says. “You have saved many lives.” 

The room bursts into movement as soon as she gestures. Within moments, the horns are sounding around the camp, and the nighttime air is alive with sound and movement. 

Donghyuck can feel Mark looking at him, can feel the silver thread between them glowing, pulling them together. 

Donghyuck makes a break for it before Mark can corner him, pushing out of the tent. His cheeks burn, a delayed blush. 

But he’d made it. The Abbott had been in the room, even, and Donghyuck hadn’t cracked. 

He looks up at the moon, at Kei, who must be watching. 

“Thank you,” Donghyuck whispers to him. “I’ll try my best.” 

* * *

They make a swift evacuation, leaving some things behind in order to increase speed. The camp is packed in a number of hours—a record, Donghyuck thinks—and they march through the night towards Rose Peak. The solidness of the mountain beneath his feet is comforting, and he thinks of Ander, the mountain god, welcoming them into his protection. 

They’re all utterly exhausted by the time dawn breaks, but there’s no time for rest. They set up tents again, help fortify defenses, make prayer circles and ask for protection, for adaptability, for it to have been enough. 

And sun goddess or not, the dream had been true. Donghyuck receives word from Yuta early in the morning that the spies report had confirmed the ambush battalion, armed to the teeth. 

“I can’t believe the sun goddess sent you a dream,” Jisung says, a little awed. “You literally—you saved our lives.” 

Donghyuck shrugs uncomfortably. He’s still not sure about the dream’s source—he’d felt the power of the sun goddess once before, and it had been obvious, scorching and bright. This had been different. Older. More knowledgeable. 

And the voice—

“Anyways, everyone here owes you one,” Johnny is saying, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Maybe the hiding _has_ paid off.” 

“I haven’t been hiding,” Donghyuck mumbles without any heat. 

Johnny leans in a little closer. “Y’know, if you want to go and talk to him, I’ll cover for you.” 

Donghyuck shakes his head. “I don’t know.” 

“What are you afraid of?” Johnny asks. “You love him, right?” 

“Yes,” Donghyuck says, and the truth of it aches. “So much.” 

“So then it’ll work itself out,” Johnny assures him. 

Donghyuck is doubtful about that. Nothing about him and Mark has ever been _simple._ Not even moon magic untangled them—it just tossed them a couple hundred miles west and told them to figure it out. 

The rest of the day passes in a daze. The mood of the camp is good, even cheerful—Donghyuck hears songs and laughter all day. He goes with Johnny in the evening to help train footsoldiers, and it goes better than expected. It’s rewarding, watching people understand what he’s demonstrating and putting it into practice. And he enjoys the stretch of his muscles, the way his mind narrows down to the point of his practice sword or the fists of an opponent. The monastery trains all its unavowed from the earliest possible moment—as a result, all the Solari are on equal footing with the Daijyo, if not better. Sometimes people forget that they’re _warrior_ monks, tasked with the ancient responsibility of protecting their people. And if that means fighting, then fight they shall. 

They practice sparring, and Donghyuck handily beats every single footsoldier, their swords or spears falling to the ground with a clatter. Yuta steps into the ring, and manages to land a blow on Donghyuck’s shoulder—a move greeted by cheers from the growing crowd of onlookers—before Donghyuck disarms him and points his blade at his throat. 

“Nice one,” Yuta says, eyes glinting. “You’re in a good mood.” 

Donghyuck shrugs. Mark hasn’t been on his mind for the last couple of hours, and there’s a rumor going around that _he’s_ the one that saved them from demise. “Guess I am.” 

They break when the moon starts to rise, most heading for the nearby lake to rinse off and then for bed. Johnny helps Donghyuck clean up, putting practice weapons back into sacks and kicking rocks out of the clearing. 

“Do you know what we’re going to do next?” Donghyuck asks Johnny, who stills. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Johnny says. “I mean, this was a pretty big win.” 

“But we’re pinned against the mountains now,” Donghyuck says. “We have to fight here.” 

Johnny nods thoughtfully. “I guess that’s true. But they’ll have to rethink their strategy now that we’re fortified here. And so close to the kingdom, too, so we have good access to resources. They can’t besiege us, and it’s no longer a matter of two armies meeting a field.” He pats Donghyuck on the back. “You bought us some much-needed time. You should be proud of that.” 

Discomfort has settled over Donghyuck again, the high from the exercise fading. He looks up at the moon, its round white face increasingly-familiar. The silver thing hums in his chest. 

_Mark doesn’t have answers for me either,_ he tells Kei. 

The humming doesn’t stop, and Donghyuck sighs. _Fine._

He turns to Johnny. “You can go ahead,” he says. “I’m gonna practice a little more.” 

Johnny’s smile is a little too knowing. “Alright,” he says. “Have fun.” 

Donghyuck glares at him, but Johnny just pats him on the back and leaves the tent, far too cheerful for Donghyuck’s liking. 

* * *

He doesn’t know how long it’ll take Mark, so he picks up a practice sword and starts running through forms. The moon is bright above his head. Donghyuck doesn’t know why Kei has chosen to meddle with them, and tries not to think too hard about the silvery line of moon magic that ties him and Mark together. 

Eventually, there are footsteps. The air fills with the smell of ozone. 

Donghyuck doesn’t turn, just keeps swinging his sword, breathing in and out through his nose. It takes all his willpower to keep his back to Mark, even as he walks across the clearing. 

“Donghyuck,” Mark says, his voice low, Donghyuck’s name sweet on his lips. 

Donghyuck doesn’t turn. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” 

“Couldn’t work up the courage,” Mark says. “Will you forgive me?” 

Donghyuck hates the unsure note to his voice and drops his sword and turns. Mark’s hair is a little damp, and he wears a heavy cloak over his usual white shirt. The moonlight turns his hair to ink and his eyes to silver-cast gems. It threads through his fingers and lingers on his skin, and Donghyuck tries to hold back a laugh. Of course the moon has grown to love Mark Lee. It’s impossible _not_ to, when he burns so steadily, so honestly. He still looks at Donghyuck like he did that first time, nearly a year ago when they’d first kissed, wet from their unexpected swim in the lake. Everything feels like a beginning with Mark, a renewal, glowing with the bright optimism of a new day. 

And _oh,_ does Donghyuck love him.

The air between them fills with a gentle sort of magic, the sort that Donghyuck feels in his gut. Mark looks at Donghyuck’s hands, balled into fists, and then up at his face. 

“I was going to bed,” Donghyuck says. 

“No,” Mark says, the corner of his mouth quirking, “you weren’t.” 

Donghyuck smiles, unable to help himself. Mark grabs him by the wrist, pulling him close and kissing him. 

Donghyuck uncurls his fingers and pulls Mark closer by the sides of his cloak. Mark’s mouth parts with a sigh, and Donghyuck leans into him. He feels Mark’s tongue against his bottom lip, testing, and they pivot suddenly from sweet and familiar to a heat Donghyuck is more familiar with. 

“Will you come with me?” Mark asks quietly, his breath warm on Donghyuck’s cheek. “To _my_ bed?” 

“You think you’re funny,” Donghyuck says, and Mark laughs against his mouth. “Yes.” 

Mark raises an eyebrow. “Yes?” 

“Yes I’ll come with you, stop looking at me like that,” Donghyuck says, shoving him. Mark just pulls him close again, still laughing, his body warm and solid against Donghyuck’s. 

“Good,” he says. 

“You’re not afraid?” 

Mark looks up at the moon. “I think he’ll keep us hidden.” 

“Do you know why he likes us so much?” 

Mark shrugs. “Not sure. But I can’t complain.” 

Sure enough, they don’t encounter anybody on the way back to Mark’s tent. Mark holds Donghyuck’s hand underneath his cloak as they pick their way over rocks, the rapidly-chilling air making Donghyuck shiver. 

Mark’s cot is piled with furs and blankets, far bigger and nicer than Donghyuck’s own.

“Well, that’s just not fair,” he complains. “Sometimes I hate being a monk. I want a nice bed.” 

“You can have a nice bed,” Mark says, sitting down on it and unfastening his boots. 

Donghyuck sits next to him. “But only for the night.” 

Mark’s face softens, and he puts a hand on Donghyuck’s cheek, turning Donghyuck’s head so he can kiss him. “It’ll have to be enough.” 

There isn’t, surprisingly, any desperate tearing of clothing. Mark kisses Donghyuck like he has all the time in the world, and Donghyuck kisses him back like everything is good and normal. Like they’ll wake up and have rice for breakfast and coffee later. 

When Mark lifts Donghyuck’s shirt over his head, it’s gentle. And when Donghyuck runs his hand down Mark’s chest, it’s tender. Something about the moonlight has softened them, filled their heads with magic and their hearts with too much love. 

They’re a little out of practice with their hands, fumbling and clumsy, forgetting steps. Mark goes a bit too slow and it hurts; Donghyuck speeds up and throws the whole thing off. But it’s never awkward, not even when they have to stop, not even when Donghyuck knees him in the side by accident. Mark kisses him with teeth and tongue, his hands on Donghyuck’s hips, and breathes Donghyuck’s name into his skin. And it’s as good as he remembers, burning in Donghyuck’s gut, making his toes curl and his back arch. It’s good to watch the flush spread up Mark’s chest, good to watch the narrow, dark look in his eyes, the press of his fingers, his mouth. It’s good, too much in the best way, even to him, his body out of practice. He comes before Mark does, and even then it’s not awkward, not strange or embarrassing. 

And then when they’re both spent and breathless, Donghyuck rolls over and kisses him again sweetly on the mouth. 

“We have to try,” Mark says, letting Donghyuck pull him close. 

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, too satisfied to argue, too tired to think. “We can.” 

* * *

The dreams don’t stop, though. They continue even when he’s lying next to Mark until the sky turns grey-blue with the coming dawn, even spending night after night exhausting themselves, his lips sore from kissing and his voice hoarse from all the talking they do, curled under the blankets. 

Things may be fairly steady, routine almost, in the encampment, but the dreams persist. More visions of the future, this time them dying at the base of the mountain. It looks like they put up a fight, though, so _something_ must’ve shifted. 

And each night, Donghyuck shouts questions into the void, pinned to the sky and forced to watch all his fears come true. _Why are you helping me? Why won’t you tell me who you are? Why won’t you show your face?_

For a while, he gets no answer. He can feel the god, though, their presence like a stone in the back of his mind. He prays at each shrine, letting the feeling of each god wash over him. The cool touch of the river goddess Ema, the steady, towering silence that Ander offers him. The dappled shade and pine smell of Jun, the forest god. The wind that ruffles his hair is Rani, and the salty, briny crash of the ocean is Aza. Each one touches his shoulder to let them know they’re watching—and that they’re also not the ones responsible for his dreams. 

The only one that remains silent is the sun goddess. Thousands must be praying to her, but sunrise and sunset both come and go, and Donghyuck still has no answer. 

He liked it better when they were ignoring him. Now there’s a war, and he’s got dreams, and everything is confusing and difficult. 

He is watching the enemy burn down the Empress’s castle one night when everything abruptly shifts. 

_I cannot show you my face because I do not have one._

Donghyuck spins around, his robes drifting around him. The screams of his people stop, fires freezing in place. The voice comes from all around him, quiet and echoing. 

_You don’t have a face? How is that possible?_

_I am only one quiet voice, young one. And I have been trying to speak to you for years._

Donghyuck swallows down his fear. _Me? Why?_

A small chuckle. _You have always been a fighter, young one. You have always wanted nothing more than to protect._

_But so do all my friends,_ Donghyuck argues. _They’re all Solari too._

_Yes, but you’re ferocious,_ they say. _In everything you do. Especially in the way that you love that boy._

_Mark?_

_Yes. Him. You will need him, Donghyuck, if you want to succeed in the future. The future relies on you both._

_But why now? Why here?_

A pause. _I am not sure I can tell you. But there is war, and we must work together if you want to succeed._

Donghyuck wakes up with a jolt. It’s barely morning—he can still see the stars—and he’s drenched in sweat. Mark is still asleep next to him, his breathing steady and slow. The camp is quiet, the sweet call of the morning larks audible in the distance. 

Donghyuck presses a hand to his racing heart and looks down at Mark. If home was a place that existed for Donghyuck, it would be here. Next to Mark Lee. And what had the voice said? That’d he’d need Mark in the future? 

He climbs out from under the blankets, shivering a little. The air is cooler up here, and they sit right at the base of the rain shadow. The air is damp, and the frosty grass crunches under his feet as he makes his way back to the Solari tents. 

Yuta is awake already, sitting on his cot with a book in his hand. He looks up when Donghyuck comes in, raising his eyebrows. “You’ve been coming back late these days,” he comments. 

“None of your business,” Donghyuck responds primly, sitting down on his cot. Yuta chokes back a laugh, and Donghyuck glares at him. 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Yuta asks. 

Donghyuck bites his lip. The horrifying, kaleidoscopic dreams, the mysterious voice, the burden that has suddenly been thrust upon him. _I have been trying to speak to you for years._

When did he start listening? _Why_ did he start listening? 

And why now, _after_ his twentieth birthday? 

The fact that he has no answers bothers him a little, mostly because he doesn’t know what sort of danger he’s getting into. 

“Not really,” Donghyuck answers. Yuta’s mouth purses with concern, but he doesn’t push Donghyuck on it. 

“You know, we’re here for you,” Johnny interrupts sleepily, rolling over in his cot. “Whatever it is.” 

Donghyuck’s heart swells. “Thanks,” he manages, choked-up. “That means a lot.” 

He lies back down on his cot and waits for the sun to rise. He does not sleep, though, and he does not dream. 

* * *

The moon whispers to Mark almost non-stop these days. Warnings, compliments, suggestions, its power sitting over his skin. The Abbott has noticed, Mark thinks, at one of their many planning sessions where they sit around the map and try to figure out a way to avoid the inevitable slaughter that creeps towards them. 

And then there’s Donghyuck, who gets stranger by the day. The sun grows bright and the days get longer, and Donghyuck shimmers with a bronze light that Mark doesn’t like the look of. Whatever speaks to him in his dreams has a tight hold on him, has unwittingly thrust him into the middle of _something._ Something big and powerful and weird. 

Mark asks about it, of course. Asks how he can help, if there’s anything Donghyuck needs—food, prayer, sex, a long, hard fight—but is turned down gently every time by hand on his cheek or a kiss on his mouth. 

Eventually, he dares to venture over to the shrines the Solari have set up—technically for anybody to use, but most people are slightly terrified of the warrior monks, with their sun-scorched expressions and close-cropped hair, the fact that every single one of them is more deadly than three footsoldiers combined. He gets a couple of suspicious looks, but nobody stops him as he hovers in front of the ten shrines, the sun goddess’ the biggest and fanciest, the statue of her holding the sun cast entirely in solar gold. 

He walks up to the mat in front of her shrine, but hesitates. It’s a habit to pray to the sun goddess, but he’s not entirely sure she can help him. 

Wisdom is what he needs. Guidance. And that is not what the sun goddess offers. 

He walks up to Kei’s shrine, neat and silver. The hum in his bones changes frequency as he kneels, clasping his hands. 

_My Lord Kei, please hear me,_ he thinks. _And may peace prevail._

There’s a long moment where he thinks nothing is going to happen. And then there’s a mighty tug in his gut, like a rope’s been tied around his waist, and something _shifts._

Mark opens his eyes, not entirely surprised to see that it’s become night, the sky black and endless above his head.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” says a voice, and Mark lifts his head to see Kei, the god of the moon, sitting cross-legged on the pedestal his shrine was on. He’s stunning, of course—the pictures don’t really do him justice—all lean, soft lines and kind hands. He wears no shirt, just long, silvery pants. His eyes are pearly white discs, like the face of the moon, and it hurts to look at his face for too long. 

Mark casts his gaze back down at his knees. “My Lord.” 

“My Lord, my lord,” Kei says, waving a hand. “I hate how she’s made all of you call us other things but our names.” 

Mark looks up, startled. Kei smiles at him, his divinity dimming so it hurts less to look at. “What, you think we like the whole bowing and scraping thing?” He snorts. “She used to be more fun, you know. The sun goddess.” 

“Fun?” Mark asks blankly. “The _sun goddess?_ ” 

“I love her still,” Kei assures him. “But she’s lost sight of who she once was.” He purses his lips. “Poor Jiwoo,” he adds, almost like an afterthought. 

There’s a shimmer next to him, and the air unfolds to reveal a girl, several years younger than Mark. Her hair is cut short around her round face, and her freckles glow like stars all over her skin. 

“Brother,” Miho, the star goddess, chides. “We’re not here to gossip.” 

Another shimmer reveals another boy around Miho’s age, his white-blond hair drifting about his face in tufts. “We’re here to help,” the cloud god Bowen says, his voice high and clear. 

Mark can do nothing but watch, stunned, as god after god appears before him, blinding him momentarily before their divinity fades just enough. There is Ander, god of the mountain they camp on, tall and sturdy, his face bearded and his eyes the color of stone. Rani, who looks like she’d run here, her dark hair awry and the rich ochre of her skin wind-stung. Aza, the sea god, brings the smell of the ocean with him, clinging to the long tangle of his fair hair and even tan. Jun, slender and flighty, shows up with a secretive smile, his eyes the color of leaves in the sunlight. Ema is next, the beads in her long black braids clattering like water over rocks. 

“Are we all here?” Kei asks, craning his neck. Everyone is staring at Mark with a curiosity that makes him feel like a child or a pet. They’re all so beautiful, flawless in every way. Mark wonders what they could want with someone like him, unextraordinary and unblessed. 

Ema shakes her head. “No, we’re still waiting for—” 

“Jiwoo!” Miho cries, and flings herself at a woman who’s just stepped out from the shadows. 

She, out of all of them, looks the most human. She offers Mark a kind, motherly smile, gentle as spring rain. 

“Sorry to pull you here so unexpectedly,” she tells him, hugging Miho and sitting down on her shrine pedestal. “You’re not Solari, so it’s harder to reach you. We were waiting for you here.” 

“Waiting…for me?” Mark asks, frowning. “Why?” 

“Because of your lover,” Kei says, his voice going soft on the last word. 

“Donghyuck?” 

The nine of them nod. Mark distantly wonders where the sun goddess is—if she’d deemed this below her station, or if they’d purposefully excluded her. 

Mark quickly decides that this way of thinking isn’t worth the trouble it’s sure to bring. He refocuses on Kei, the sun goddess’ empty pedestal slipping from his mind. 

“He’s about to find himself in the midst of something too big for him,” Jiwoo says. 

“Truth,” Aza contributes. “Power not made for mortals.” 

“He’ll choose to wield it, though,” Ema argues, crossing his arms. 

Jiwoo nods. “It is his duty. I have sensed it.” 

“He’ll need your help,” Miho chimes in. 

“Why can’t you guys just help him?” Mark asks. “I’m just—I’m just _me._ I don’t even know what I’m doing.” 

“This isn’t for us to meddle with,” Jiwoo says gravely. 

“No matter what the sun goddess may think,” Jun mutters under his breath. Miho nudges him sternly. 

“This is for you and Donghyuck,” Jiwoo says. “The fate of your country does not rest in any of our hands.” 

Mark shivers underneath the weight of all their gazes. Kei gives him a sympathetic look. 

Rani clears her throat, and the wind picks up. “I have a message for you,” she says. “Great danger lies before you, and you must seek the four elemental symbols if you and your lover wish to succeed.

“From the heart of the mountain, you will need the earth armor. From the mouth of the wind, you will need the shield of air. From the hands of the river, you will need the bow of water. And lastly, from the gut of the sun, you will need the sword of fire.” 

Rani stares at him, unblinking. “Each will require a gift willingly given. Seek them out in this order, and only then can the truth be found.” 

Mark’s mind spins, struggling underneath the information, under the weight of the task he’s been given. “But what—where can I find all of this? How do we get there?” 

“The first is right here,” Ander says solemnly. “Listen to your feet, and they will lead you where you need to go.” 

“But—” 

“You’ve got a lot of questions,” Kei says, “but we can’t answer them all. That’s not how this works.” 

Jiwoo raises her head. “And we must go. She’s found us.” 

One by one, they vanish into thin air. Ander pats him on the back, and Jiwoo kisses the top of his head. Miho offers him a smile. Jun tells him to keep his secrets close. 

Soon, there’s only Kei left. 

“I’ve believed in you this whole time,” he says. “It’s been fun to watch you two. You remind me of my beloved back before the sky was split.” He stands, and Mark has to look away as his divinity returns. “I will be looking out for you,” Kei says, and vanishes with a wink. 

And Mark wakes up. 

* * *

Donghyuck is training in the clearing when Mark comes running up. 

At first, none of them notice him—the Duchess’s son was a familiar sight by now, riding in and out with battalions, strategizing, keeping morale up. He was well-liked, easy on the eyes, and unthreatening enough. 

But when he doesn’t slow, doesn’t pass by, they take notice. Sword tips fall, sparring halts, murmurs rise. Heads bow as Mark skids to a halt at the edge of the practice ring, his chest heaving, his hair windblown. There’s a strange silver shine to his eyes. 

Before Donghyuck can bow, Mark says his name. 

Every single head within earshot swivels towards Donghyuck, who is frozen in place. 

“Donghyuck,” Mark says again, and then he’s moving, striding furiously across the grass, possessed with a purpose, a burden—a divine quest, a holy command. Donghyuck recognizes the panic in his eyes, the resolute set of his shoulders. 

Johnny leans close to him. “He was at the shrines this morning.” 

A dream, then. A vision. God-magic, moon-magic—they’ve told Mark _something._

_It’s starting,_ the voice whispers in his ear. _It’s time._

“You have to come with me,” Mark says urgently. The light in his eyes is almost feverish, too bright to look at head-on. “Right now.” 

Donghyuck looks around at all the eyes, at all the open mouths. Mark has a hand on his wrist. Yuta looks smug, and Donghyuck makes a note to wallop him when he has the time. 

_Go,_ the voice urges. _Didn’t you want a destiny? Didn’t you want a path?_

_Yes,_ Donghyuck thinks, disconnected and dreamy. _Yes._

_Then_ go, _young one._

Donghyuck puts his hand on Mark’s shoulders, not hearing the whispers ripple through the ring. 

“Alright,” Donghyuck says, just loud enough for Mark to hear. “I’ll come.” 

**Author's Note:**

> do not ask me what's going to happen next bc honestly i haven't outlined that far yet thanks i love you all so very much
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)   
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